


Leon Knightley and the Duke of Gloucester

by Clea2011



Series: Leon Knightley [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, M/M, Modern Royalty, Skeletons In The Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clea2011/pseuds/Clea2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Save a Virgin night, Leon and Gwaine's relationship had changed. Leon hoped it would be a temporary change, he really did.  Honestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leon Knightley and the Duke of Gloucester

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celeste9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Леон Найтли и герцог Глостерский](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503866) by [Anna_Karenina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Karenina/pseuds/Anna_Karenina)



> For Celeste9, who has been working far too hard this summer. She also had to beta this. Thanks Celeste :-)  
> Fills hc bingo square Skeletons in the closet.

After the Spring Fayre, and the disturbing incident that had arisen from Gwaine’s Save a Virgin night, Leon kept to the library as much as he could.

It wasn’t so bad, he kept telling himself. There was only one week until the spring break, and then he wouldn’t have to see Gwaine again for nearly an entire month. Gwaine would have moved on to someone else by then, and everything would be fine. In fact, Gwaine would probably want to change rooms because of the awkwardness. Everything would be better than fine.

Leon sat in the library with his books and essays all day. Sometimes he managed to write an entire paragraph. It wasn’t that he was worried, it wasn’t that he was thinking about Gwaine, it was just that the essay themes had suddenly become quite incomprehensible.

The trouble was, the library shut in the evenings, and eventually Leon had to return to the room. And Gwaine.

Gwaine mistakenly appeared to think that he now had every right to crawl into bed with Leon whenever he felt like it. This was an appalling development, and to counteract it Leon had very reluctantly started sleeping in Gwaine’s bed so that none of Gwaine’s bodily fluids contaminated his very posh sheets.

Gwaine’s sheets were of course from Asda. There was even a label to tell him so. It was humiliating, in so many ways, to know that instead of being deflowered by a prince on a bed of rose petals, he had got drunk and let _Gwaine_ (who didn’t appear to have a father, or at least never mentioned him, so was probably the natural born son of goodness knows who) shag him on cut price sheets.

Leon’s parents could never, ever find out about Gwaine. His mother would cry, and his father would probably disown him. And then Leon would be out on the streets, and have to go and live with Gwaine on the rough estate that Gwaine so obviously hailed from.

Leon’s life would be so much better when Gwaine had lost interest in him.

So far, however, Gwaine had shown no sign at all of any loss of interest. Worse, he seemed to want to go out on an actual date before they went their separate ways for the holidays. A _date_. In a _public place_. Where people would _see them together_. Leon shuddered.

“But… we don’t do dates,” he pointed out. “We just…” he gestured towards Gwaine’s bed.

“I’ll miss you,” Gwaine told him plaintively.

Leon seriously doubted that.

“We should do at least one proper date. I thought… perhaps the restaurant you like? That one I sat in on Valentine’s Day?”

Gwaine was a horrible, evil, manipulative bastard. But Leon could already feel the guilt pulling at him.

“I suppose one date won’t hurt…”

It was frightening, really, that Leon was actually starting to quite like it when Gwaine smiled at him like that.

\---

Leon had managed to book a quiet table in the corner of the restaurant, away from the windows and most of the other diners. Sadly the waiter seemed to think that was because they wanted a romantic evening, and was being overly helpful. Leon could see him out of the corner of his eye, watching them happily.

“He was really nice to me when I was sitting here by myself,” Gwaine explained. “Gave me extra breadsticks and everything.”

Gwaine liked breadsticks. He particularly seemed to like slowly unwrapping them and then eating them in what could only be described as a suggestive manner. Leon was very, very glad that they were sitting in a darkened corner. Also he wondered if they could go back to campus soon.

“I was wondering,” Gwaine ventured. He was twirling a breadstick absently between his fingers. Leon tried not to think what those fingers could do when Gwaine actually put his mind to it. Because of course Leon wasn’t that interested, and it was just to save Gwaine’s feelings, to give him a chance to get bored and move on. “I’m going away for a couple of weeks, can’t get out of that. But it’s only the first two weeks. Perhaps I could visit you on the way back?”

“What? Why?” Leon almost choked with shock.

“Well… so we can shag, obviously.”

And that was how cheap and nasty Leon’s life had become. He was the sexual plaything of a person of no consequence.

“You… don’t know where I live.”

Gwaine shrugged. “The poshest suburbs of Salisbury, wasn’t it? I can stop off on the way back from Heathrow.”

“Ah… we… have decorators in. No spare room. In fact, I have to give up my room for the last two weeks of the holiday because of the paint. So… sorry, no.”

Gwaine beamed at him. “Well that’s _perfect_.”

Leon had thought so, but he wasn’t sure why Gwaine agreed with him.

“We can holiday together! I’ll pick you up on the way back. I can pick up a change of clothes from home and then we can go youth hostelling across Wales. It’ll be brilliant!”

Youth hostelling. But… that was _cheap._ And you had to share dorms with many unwashed student types.

“Youth hostels aren’t really my thing…” he ventured, then almost swallowed his tongue with horror as he realised he’d used the phrase ‘my thing’. He was slowly being corrupted.

“Shame, they’re fun. But… no, I have a better idea!”

Leon doubted that.

“We can go camping! It’ll be great!”

Camping wasn’t quite as bad as youth hostelling. Leon had an extremely nice tent and all the very latest camping equipment. He’d bought it when he was doing the Duke of Essetir’s award, but when he’d found that the handsome and eligible Duke Cenred didn’t actually take part or even present the awards himself, he’d lost interest. He’d never got around to using the camping equipment. But it was new, and clean, and as long as they found one of those campsites with quality washing facilities and plenty of nearby eating establishments with five star food hygiene ratings, he thought it would be quite tolerable.

“We could have sex under the stars…” Gwaine mused, a wicked gleam in his eye as he fingered the breadstick.

Leon tried hard not to think about how good that might be. Anyway, it was weeks away. Gwaine would have got bored and found someone else. Of course he would.

“So,” Leon ventured. “Tell me about this holiday you’re going on.”

Gwaine immediately looked a little shifty. It was the expression he got when he’d broken or damaged something in their room, or stolen something from their fridge which was clearly labelled as Leon’s. He did that a lot. Worse, once or twice he had stolen food then replaced it with a cheap and inferior substitute, then laughed because Leon hadn’t noticed.

“It’s not exactly a holiday,” he ventured. “Arthur wants to take Merlin away, but obviously if they both get on the royal jet then the press will see them and Merlin’s not ready for that. So… um… I’m going with Merlin on Easyjet and we’ll meet Arthur there.”

 _Easyjet_! It was the Asda of airlines! Suddenly Leon was quite glad he wasn’t seeing the prince. Arthur could surely afford to put Merlin in first class on British Airways or something like that. Something that wasn’t _orange_. Of course, that meant Arthur wasn’t as serious about Merlin as Gwaine seemed to think. Leon could just bide his time… though he wasn’t sure he wanted to. There were plenty of other peers of the realm, and thanks to Gwaine he seemed to be heading towards Arthur’s social circle. Although…

“Wait, you’re going on holiday with them? With the prince?”

Gwaine looked uncomfortable. “It’s just a favour. I’m booked into a room with Merlin, but obviously Arthur and I will swap. Hey, that means I get the fancy royal suite! And a holiday in the sun! I was hardly going to say no.”

Leon was still having trouble processing it. “So, Arthur chose you of all people to entrust with this?”

Gwaine shrugged. “We’re friends. Why wouldn’t he?”

Leon could think of a thousand and one reasons. But there was something more pressing, more annoying. “So you’re going on some fantastic holiday with the prince, then going camping with me? In Wales? In April, when it’s going to be cold and wet?”

“I’m looking forward to the camping holiday more,” Gwaine assured him.

Obviously Gwaine was a great big fat liar.

\---

Leon was still sulking the next day when term finished and they prepared to go their separate ways. Even when Gwaine was packing his car with Merlin’s things, and Prince Arthur was right there helping them, Leon still kept up his bad mood. He was usually as cheery and friendly as he could be around the prince, because despite Arthur’s Gwaine-like tendencies he was still the heir to the throne, and despite what Gwaine said about him being besotted with Merlin, Merlin was still… well, he was Merlin. Leon hadn’t completely given up hope. He threw Gwaine’s tatty suitcase into the boot, glaring at it.

“Is everything okay?” Merlin asked him. Leon did sort of like Merlin, because even though he’d snagged himself the prince, he was the only one of Gwaine’s friends who seemed to have any consideration for others.

“Leon’s annoyed that I’m holidaying without him,” Gwaine explained, throwing an even tattier backpack on top of the case.

Arthur, to give him his due, looked suitably apologetic. “Sorry,” he told Leon. “You weren’t with Gwaine when we arranged this. Next time we’ll book you a place as well. It’s just really difficult, with the press around all the time. They’ll eat Merlin alive if they ever find out about him.”

The press. Photographers and society gossip columnists. It would have been Leon’s perfect route to a suitable partner. Instead he would be in a cold, wet tent. With Gwaine, who probably wouldn’t bother washing for the entire holiday.

“As far as the world knows, Arthur’s just on holiday with a few friends from uni,” Gwaine explained. “They probably think Merlin’s _my_ boyfriend!”

“Because the society gossip columns are really going to care who _you’re_ going out with, aren’t they?” Leon grumbled.

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur cut him off. “Even think about laying so much as a finger on him, Gwaine, and I’ll have you locked in the tower. Don’t think that I can’t…”

It all degenerated after that, and even Leon had to laugh at some of the medieval punishments Arthur started coming up with. Soon enough the car was packed, and Gwaine was driving off, waving at them both and shouting at Leon that he’d see him in a couple of weeks and to pack lots of lube because he’d be needing it.

Of course there was a photographer right there who caught that. Leon just hoped his mum would be so pleased to see a picture of him with the prince that she’d miss the rest of it.

Arthur was trying desperately not to watch the rather battered car as it disappeared, but failing miserably. Merlin, Leon thought, was not going to remain a secret for much longer.

“You’ll see him soon,” Leon ventured. “And Gwaine’s not _that_ bad a driver…”

“Gwaine’s a great driver, and a good friend,” Arthur replied. He was still glancing far too much at the rapidly vanishing car, and the photographer was still lurking. “You’re lucky to have him.”

Leon almost choked, but managed to just look a little startled. Clearly the prince was addled.

“He’s my best friend, actually,” Arthur continued. “I think, if anyone hurt him, I’d find one of those ancient laws and revive them especially for that person.” He was looking at Leon now quite pointedly. The car must have gone. “So, I have to wait an hour or so for my ride to arrive. Drink?”

Leon found his throat had suddenly gone extremely dry.

\---

The two weeks at home went very slowly.

Sadly, or perhaps not, the picture of Leon and Arthur had never appeared. Instead, every single day, Leon was forced to look at pictures of Arthur sunning himself (and his undeserving _friends_ ) at a very expensive and exclusive-looking beach resort somewhere on the Mediterranean. Merlin was carefully excluded from all the official shots, and it looked as if the paparazzi had missed him so far as well. Gwaine was also notably absent, except for one shot where he could clearly be seen in the vast and luxurious swimming pool behind Arthur, floating on a lido with a large fruity drink in his hand.

Leon very carefully cut the picture out and kept it. Not because he was missing Gwaine or anything. He absolutely was not. It was lovely sleeping in a room that had no stale cigarette smoke or faint smell of spilt beer. It was wonderful having his bed to himself and knowing that when he awoke he wouldn’t be faced with Gwaine and his latest hangover. Although those had been few and far between recently, Leon had to admit. Mostly because Gwaine had been spending considerably less time in the bar and considerably more time with Leon.

Obviously Leon was a good and stabilising influence. In time, perhaps Gwaine would become a morally upstanding member of society and look back on these days fondly as the ones that changed his life for the better. Leon was already doing good work and hadn’t even embarked on his esteemed political career yet.

The day before Gwaine was due back, there was another picture. It was hidden away at the bottom of the colour spread of Arthur and his ridiculously toned and tanned torso. They were all there – Arthur, his friends from uni (as the paper put it, but that turned out to be a half-hidden Merlin and a not-hidden-at-all _Gwaine,_ and apparently Percival had wangled an invite too _)_ , the Princess Royal looking impossibly glamourous, her equally glamourous and slightly scary-looking blonde friend who was apparently the Countess of Norfolk or something, and the Duke of Gloucester.

The Duke of Gloucester wasn’t someone Leon had noticed before. He was mentioned sometimes in articles about the prince, as one of his friends, but Leon didn’t think he’d ever seen a photo of him before. The duke was a little shorter than the others, pale, dark-haired and handsome, with a slightly detached expression. It was almost cold. But that didn’t matter, the duke was exactly what Leon thought he was looking for. Because, well, he was a duke. Admittedly his gaze drifted back to Gwaine, who was probably even more handsome than the duke if Leon was honest. He was also balancing a glass of beer on Arthur’s head in the picture.

Leon rolled his eyes, but started to cut out the picture anyway. And that was when his mother walked in and found him defacing her copy of _We Love the Royals Weekly_.

No amount of protesting that his friends were in the picture would do the trick. Apparently she’d not had a chance to read it yet, and as it was no longer in pristine condition Leon would need to go and buy another copy.

“Such a lovely picture as well,” she told him as he picked up his jacket and headed for the door. “Look at dear Arthur, and our beautiful princess, and even the duke is there. He’s so camera-shy normally. I’ll want that picture for my collection.”

Leon narrowed his eyes. “You have a collection of pictures of the Duke of Gloucester?” Well, that explained why he’d never seen the man before. His photo was hidden away in one of Leon’s mother’s countless scrapbooks.

“Yes. He’s so handsome now, and was such a sweet boy when he was growing up. I have countless pictures of him and little Arthur playing together,” she sighed. “Oh Leon, why can’t you be better friends with Arthur? Then you could go on these holidays and be in the pictures too. All the ladies at the WI would be so impressed. I’d probably be made chairwoman next year.”

Leon left before he said anything. It really was unfair. And he could tell from the look on Merlin’s face in the picture that, as usual, he wasn’t appreciating the privilege at all.

\---

Halfway back from the newsagent, with the magazine safely in a weatherproof bag, Leon’s phone went off. It was Gwaine.

“Hey! Miss me?”

There was no way under the sun that Leon was going to admit to that. And it wouldn’t be true. Much.

“Isn’t it rather expensive calling from a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean?” Leon enquired. Not that he was jealous or anything.

“I’m at Heathrow. We’re back early, old Uther had a strop because Morgana got the royal puppies out for an all-over tan and now they’re all across the front of the Sun this morning!”

Sometimes it was hard to understand what Gwaine was saying. It was better to let it pass. _Old Uther_ indeed. If Leon’s mother heard…

“So I thought I’d pick you up on the way, drop off my washing with Mum and then we could head off for our holiday. Okay with you?”

“Well…”

“You’re just at home, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Great, see you in an hour or two!”

Gwaine rang off before there was any further discussion. Leon had that vague feeling that he’d just been done, but he wasn’t sure how. Sometimes Gwaine moved a little too fast for him.

Gwaine was on his way. To Leon’s house. Where Leon’s mother would _see_ him. There was no way that Gwaine wouldn’t say or do something awful. Actually, having him just standing there and breathing would probably be enough.

Leon broke into a run.

\---

Leon was quite proud of how quickly he had managed to pack and get back downstairs. He’d already warned his mother that he would be going away with a friend for a few days, and the fact that it was happening a day early didn’t seem to bother her. He was just wondering if he should go outside and wait so that he could just quickly get into Gwaine’s car and leave, when his mother asked:

“Now do you think your friend would like the Battenberg or the lemon drizzle?”

That was when he noticed that she had laid out the third best china and was placing a doily on the Queen Ygraine memorial cake stand. There were cake forks coming out. For _Gwaine._

“He’s… no!”

His mother looked a little surprised, and Leon tried to keep his voice calm.

“He’s just going to quickly pick me up and we’ll go. He’s had a long flight.”

“Well he should rest before driving. Leon, what about the lemon drizzle? It’s fresh from the bakery this morning.”

“He’s…um… just had lunch! Yes! Honestly, we need to leave as soon as he gets here. You probably won’t even see him.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Leon knew perfectly well that his mother was the sort of person who liked to make sure she saw everything she possibly could. And she was certainly not going to fail to see her son’s ‘friend’.

Leon did, he realised a little while later as he stood at the end of the drive with his mother pretending to prune the roses right behind him, need to learn when to keep quiet. The gardener was due tomorrow, there was absolutely no need for his mother to be out there. She was never out there, the garden was full of bugs and things.

“Perhaps you should go inside?” he ventured. “You know how the sun is bad for your complexion?”

His mother chopped ineffectually at the nearest rosebush, managing to detach a leaf, and ignored him. In the distance there was the sound of a car engine in bad need of a service and it was getting closer. And then, horribly, the car appeared. In the immaculately maintained suburban street, it looked every bit as bad as Leon had feared.

“Oh Leon…” his mother said, wringing her hands together in distress when Gwaine’s car pulled up outside. Evidently she didn’t think it could possibly be the person she had wanted to lay out lemon drizzle cake for. “Whoever is this?”

“It’s… um… Gwaine…” Leon began hesitantly. “He’s… um…”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Gwaine clarified helpfully, leaning out of the car window and favouring Mrs Knightley with a huge grin. He hopped out of the car and stuck out a hand. “Lovely to meet you.”

Leon’s mother’s eyes widened. She stared at Gwaine, evidently at a loss for words. Slowly, she took his hand. Gwaine of course lifted it up to kiss it, because Gwaine would do that to Leon’s mother.

“Enchanted.”

Leon was going to hit him. But the priority was to get him away from chez Knightley as fast as possible. He threw all the camping equipment and his hand-stitched rucksack into the back seat of Gwaine’s car, kissed his mother quickly on the cheek, and climbed into the front seat. For a horrible moment he thought Gwaine was going to linger, but after a moment where Leon’s mother just gazed at him in shock, Gwaine headed back to the driver’s seat.

The car didn’t smell as if a valet had been near it in months. Or indeed ever. It had a dried-out air fresher dangling from the rear view mirror.

“Have a lovely time, dear,” his mother said faintly. She still looked quite stunned.

“Now I know where you get your OMG face from,” Gwaine whispered as he started up the engine. “Have you told her about Save a Virgin night yet? Bet she’d love it!”

Leon ignored him. It was often best to ignore Gwaine. It never seemed to stop Gwaine talking though.

“We’re going to drop my case off with Mum. She’s packed up some clothes for me.” He glanced at the backseat. “Is that everything? Do we need to get anything else? There’s an Asda superstore on the way, they sell everything.”

Leon paled at the thought. “No,” he assured Gwaine. “We don’t need anything else.”

\---

Just as Leon had expected, Gwaine’s mother lived in a run-down mid-terraced house in the middle of a very poor-looking row of houses on the outskirts of Gloucester. It was ironic, Leon thought, that Prince Arthur had been on holiday with both ends of that same town’s social spectrum.

“Does Arthur know you live here?” Leon asked as they got out of the car.

Gwaine looked a little shifty, confirming Leon’s suspicions. “No,” he admitted. “Actually, I…”

“Gwaine!” A woman… a surprisingly well-presented woman, considering the state of the house… had emerged from the dwelling and was coming along the garden path towards them. “About time! You’re late.”

Gwaine held out his arms, totally ignoring her annoyed tone, and wrapped her up in a huge bear hug, lifting her a little off her feet. “Mum!”

Leon looked away, embarrassed. If he did that to his mother he’d never hear the end of it.

“Don’t you mum me!” Mrs Greene snapped… well, Leon hoped she was a _Mrs_ Greene anyway. Gwaine still hadn’t told him either way, despite Leon actually asking at one point. Apparently it didn’t matter in this day and age, and Leon shouldn’t be such a snob. “You promised you’d be here an hour ago. Don’t think you’re leaving until you’ve done your chores.”

“Um…” Gwaine stepped back and jerked his head towards Leon. “This is Leon. I told you I was picking him up on the way.”

Mrs Greene stood for a moment regarding Leon, who wasn’t quite sure what he should do. If it was one of his mother’s posh friends then there would be no problem, but this was the woman who had raised Gwaine. He settled for nodding to her politely, walking up and offering his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Greene.”

Thankfully she didn’t contradict him, smiled back and shook his hand. “Very formal. Call me Marianne, Leon. You and I should sit down and have a nice cup of tea while Gwaine fixes the back fence. We can get to know each other.”

Gwaine actually looked a little worried at that. “Leon’s helping me,” he said. It was a bit of a cheek, Leon thought. Gwaine hadn’t even asked him. But then, Gwaine rarely asked permission for anything.

The back garden was, if possible, worse than the front. The fence there had a couple of panels down, one of them still hanging off the post.

It was not Leon’s choice of ways to spend his holiday. However, Gwaine actually appeared to be doing something useful for once, and, more surprisingly, to know what he was doing. Leon’s role in the end turned out to involve anything that Gwaine needed extra muscle for. And then, once the new panels were in place, helping to paint them.

If Leon’s mother could have seen him, dirty and paint-splattered, she would have been appalled. He was glad Gwaine’s mother had at least found some old clothes of Gwaine’s for them to wear. Even if they smelled as if they might have come out of the holiday suitcase, and barely fit Leon, at least it meant his hand woven linen trousers weren’t ruined. And afterwards, when Gwaine insisted on dragging Leon into the shower with him, it was almost worth all the work.

\---

Mrs Greene (because really, Leon just couldn’t think of Gwaine’s _mother_ as being someone with a first name) was sitting in the kitchen when they came back downstairs.

“Oh _Gwaine_ ,” she said with a faintly reproachful look, but Gwaine just shrugged unrepentantly. Leon felt a blush spreading across his face. He’d been quiet, but Gwaine… Gwaine was Gwaine. The sooner they got out of there the better.

Worse, there was a little old lady sitting at the table with Gwaine’s mother, beaming at them both happily. Leon wished the ground would open up and swallow him, right there and then.

Gwaine had no such concerns. He bounded around the table and squashed the elderly lady in one of his huge, completely over the top hugs.

“Nancy! You’re back!” He reached over and took a large slice of the fruit cake that was sitting in the middle of the table. “Mmm, and you made my favourite cake! That’s why I love you, you know that.” The last bit was somewhat muffled due to the amount of cake he’d managed to stuff in his mouth.

“Had to make one when I heard you’d be coming over and fixing my fence for me. You’re such a good boy, Gwaine.”

“This… isn’t your house?” Leon couldn’t help asking Gwaine.

Nancy gave him a sharp look. “This has been _my_ home for nearly forty years.”

Leon was aware that he’d said something wrong, though he wasn’t quite sure what. “Sorry. I thought we were going to Gwaine’s place to drop off his case and pick up some clean clothes.”

Nancy eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then looked up at Gwaine who just shrugged apologetically.

“You’ve got my bag, right, Mum?”

“No, it’s up at the house. You can give me a lift back and drop your stinky washing off at the same time. And I’m sure Leon would love to see where we live.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” Gwaine told her. “I’ll take you up there now, Mum. Leon, I could drop you off at the Quays, you’ll like some of the shops. There’s one that sells hand-painted lampshades by Tibetan monks or something like that.”

“Oh Gwaine…” his mother said, rolling her eyes. “Let Leon see the house.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Leon told him reassuringly. For some reason that drew a loud cackle from Nancy.

“Bad? It’s the family seat of the Duke of Gloucester!   It has forty-two bedrooms. I know, I used to clean them.”

“Taught me all I know about housekeeping,” Mrs Greene beamed. The two ladies smiled fondly at each other, obviously long-time friends.

It was an interesting development, and Leon wanted to find out more. “So you work for the Duke of Gloucester?” he asked Gwaine’s mother.

“Work?” Mrs Greene exclaimed. “Do I work? I run that house for him.”

She was a housekeeper. A servant. He was sleeping with the offspring of a _servant_.

“Aw, don’t exaggerate, Mum!” Gwaine put in.

“ _Single-handedly!”_ Mrs Greene continued.

Perhaps an esteemed servant then. One of high standing.

“He’s never there, I have to stand in for him at so many functions.”

Very high standing then. Not so bad. He’d have to go in through the servants quarters, but still…

Perhaps Mrs Greene could introduce him to the duke. Or perhaps Gwaine could. He glanced over at Gwaine, who was looking more annoyed than Leon had ever seen him. No wonder Gwaine knew Arthur, if he had grown up on the duke’s estate. He’d probably run around after the pair of them, carrying things and doing whatever the children of servants did. He’d never mentioned the duke. Perhaps they didn’t get on. That would be understandable, given that Gwaine’s circumstances were so inferior.

Still, the son of a high-ranking servant was a lot better than the natural-born son of goodness-knows-who. Perhaps, if he spent a long time beforehand preparing Gwaine on what he should and shouldn’t say and do, he could introduce him properly to his mother.

Gwaine had started picking the cherries out of the fruit cake and eating them separately. It would take a considerable amount of preparation, obviously.

“What’s the duke like?” Leon asked. Gwaine’s frown deepened, confirming Leon’s suspicion that Gwaine didn’t like him.

“Horrible,” Mrs Greene told him. “I blame his father, he always allowed him to do whatever he liked and now he’s inherited the title he’s so spoiled there’s no controlling him.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “He’s my mother’s favourite royal. She’ll be sorry to hear that.”

“Really?” Gwaine asked. He had finished destroying the fruit cake and was now scooping it up in his fingers. It was quite disgusting, and shocking considering Mrs Greene had perfect table manners.

“Apparently she has a scrapbook of cuttings and pictures. I cut out that picture of you all together and he was in it too. She wasn’t happy.”

Gwaine perked up at that. “You cut out a picture of me?”

“Well… Arthur and Merlin and Percival too. I go to uni with all of you…”

Gwaine beamed at him. “You cut out a picture of me!”

“Do you have the picture with you?” Mrs Greene asked curiously. “I haven’t seen any pictures from Gwaine’s holiday yet. He never shares anything with his old mum, you know?”

Gwaine was looking at him expectantly. Almost hopefully, in fact. And, embarrassingly, Leon _did_ have the picture as he’d shoved it in his wallet in the rush to get away from home before Gwaine said something appalling to his mother. Reluctantly he took it out, trying to ignore the way Gwaine punched the air in triumph.

“Oh _Gwaine_ ,” Mrs Greene said, looking at the pint of beer balanced precariously on Arthur’s head but Gwaine just shrugged unrepentantly.

“Arthur likes a good party.”

This was true. And at least in the picture the duke was looking suitably disapproving.

“Who’s the hunk?” Nancy asked. “Nice muscles.”

“That’s Percival. He’s on the football team.”

“Mmm, well you should bring him home,” Mrs Greene smiled. “The women of Gloucester would be eternally grateful.”

Gwaine shook his head. “That’s gross, Mum.” He looked down at the picture. “That’s probably the most clothes Morgana wore for the entire holiday. And old Mordred looks as miserable as ever.”

Mordred. That had to be the duke’s first name. He did look a bit miserable, it was true. But then compared to Gwaine most people looked miserable. “That’s not a very respectful way to talk about your mother’s boss,” he told Gwaine.

Mrs Greene almost choked on her tea.

“No, indeed,” she spluttered.

“I suppose he’ll be coming home soon now too? Now that the holiday is over?”

“Leon would probably like to meet the duke, you see,” Gwaine explained. His voice, Leon thought, sounded a little cold. “Leon thinks that titles and wealth are the most important thing in the world.”

“That’s not true…” Leon began. Though, he knew, it probably had more than an element of truth about it.

“Oh Leon,” Gwaine’s mother said. It was the same tone she’d used on her son when he’d come downstairs after shagging Leon far too noisily in Nancy’s shower. “Surely not?”

Bizarre and almost impossible as it was, Leon had a feeling that his mother would get on rather well with Gwaine’s mother. They both were absolute experts in getting just the right amount of disapproval in their voices. Still, Mrs Greene was a highly respected servant in the Gloucester household so perhaps it wasn’t so very surprising. What _was_ surprising was that she’d somehow produced a son like Gwaine.

Gwaine, who was sitting across from him now, looking down at the photo, his expression unreadable.

“We should go,” Gwaine said, getting up. “Things to do. Nancy, that cake was the best, as always.” He leaned over and kissed Nancy on the cheek. “Mum, are you ready?”

Mrs Greene glanced a little worriedly at Leon, but got to her feet. “I’ll just get my bag.”

“We’ll see you at the car. Leon?”

Leon got up and followed Gwaine out. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but he’d never seen Gwaine so serious. The reason didn’t become apparent until he got into the car.

“You cut that picture out because of Mordred, didn’t you?” Gwaine asked. He didn’t turn around and all Leon could see was the back of his head. Leon had of course sat in the back amongst all the camping equipment because he had been brought up nicely and would always let a lady sit in the front. Mrs Greene was standing in the doorway, still talking to Nancy. “Not because of me.”

“It was because of all of you,” Leon protested. “It’s not every day I open up one of Mum’s magazines and have a picture of my…well…”

“You can’t even say it.” Gwaine twisted in his seat to look back at him. “Boyfriend, Leon. That’s the word. And you’d leave me in an instant if you thought you could have a duke instead? Someone rich and famous?”

“I…” Leon didn’t know what to say. He knew that he hated the way Gwaine was looking at him, sort of sad and hurt, but angry at the same time.

“Everyone’s the same, Leon. At the end of the day… don’t you see that Arthur just wants to be as down to earth as the next person? He’d give anything to be ordinary, to be able to walk out with Merlin without a dozen flashbulbs going off in his face. Even if he refused the succession, he’d still be followed everywhere for the rest of his life. And that’s what you really want?”

“I don’t know,” Leon said. The words had just come out without much thought.

“I was really looking forward to our holiday, you know? All through those two weeks, when I had to hang around with all the others, help Arthur sneak off all the time, I was just wishing it would be over so we could go off somewhere quiet. But you’re not really as into this as I am, are you?” Gwaine didn’t wait for an answer, which was perhaps lucky because Leon wasn’t sure what he would have said. “I thought you’d get over it, but you haven’t. Well, I can help you if it means so much to you. We’ll go up to the house, and Mum can take you to see the duke. But after that, regardless of what you think of him, I’m taking you and your posh camping stuff back home and I’ll go youth hosteling by myself instead. And you’ll get what you want – I’ll ask for a transfer to a different room when we go back to uni. I’ll be out of your hair. Or, you can treat me like you’re actually my boyfriend and you can forget about dukes and princes and things and we can go on holiday like we planned. But not both. I’m not going to sit around waiting for you to find someone you think is better.” With that he turned away, evidently having said all he wanted to.

It was, quite possibly, the most sense Leon had ever heard from Gwaine. He wasn’t quite sure what he thought of it. It definitely stung, and he didn’t feel great about it.

“Sorry boys, Nancy does talk!” Mrs Greene opened the car door, got in and waved cheerfully to her friend, then looked at her son’s face. “Oh honestly, Gwaine, I was only a few minutes. You can get off on your holiday soon. Stop sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” Gwaine told her in a tone that said quite the opposite. He glared at Leon via the rear view mirror, then started the engine.

It wasn’t a quiet ride back. If Leon had ever wondered where Gwaine got his talkative nature from, ten minutes in the car with Mrs Greene answered that question forever. He’d heard all about Nancy and how her house was rented from the duchy as a retired employee and therefore not really hers and that was something she was a bit sensitive about. Then he heard about Nancy’s useless son who never visited, and how good Gwaine always was to her (he suspected she was exaggerating that part slightly in an attempt to make Gwaine look good, though if she’d been party to the conversation in the car earlier she probably wouldn’t have cared any more what Leon thought of him, he guessed). Then he heard about the shops of Gloucester, and some big festival that was taking place in the summer, and the traffic and the weather and how very horrible a yellow shirt was on some random pedestrian that they passed. Leon was glad of the chatter, it meant that he didn’t have to do anything but agree in the right places. It left him time to think.

Gwaine had been a surprisingly loyal boyfriend. Leon had expected him to run off with someone else within a few days, but instead he’d stuck with Leon and rarely even come back to their room drunk. Once, Leon had even caught him studying… or at least using an open course book as somewhere to put down his coffee mug. He was handsome, fit, and Leon wasn’t going to deny that the sex was anything other than great. But…

He was also loud, brash, scruffy, vulgar, had terrible taste and no appreciation of quality, and everything he owned came from the cheapest shops he could find. Leon knew, because Gwaine left the discarded carrier bags in their room. Probably on purpose. And he wasn’t a prince, a duke, or even the great nephew of one five times removed. Leon’s mother probably already loathed him, and going back home to face her wasn’t something he was looking forward to.

Gwaine’s voice snapped him back to the present. The quite unbelievable present.

“Gates, please, Mum.”

Leon’s jaw dropped. They were actually at the front gates of the residence of the Duke of Gloucester, and _Gwaine’s mother had a remote to get them in!_ There was no security guard, which was a shame but that was forgotten in the fact that the gates were opening and they were driving in, past the carefully pruned topiaries and neatly trimmed hedges and onto the estate.

“If you spill any bodily fluids on the car seat in your excitement, you’re cleaning it up,” Gwaine warned, watching him in the mirror again.

“ _Gwaine!”_

“Ow! Sorry, Mum. He was drooling, honest that’s what I meant. No need to hit me!”

Leon ignored him, staring at the beautiful stately home that was coming into view. There was a lake and a fountain, and lawns and statues and just _everything_. “It’s amazing.”

“It’s just a house,” Gwaine grumbled. “It’s cold and draughty and has tourists all over it half the time. Not that exciting, Leon.”

All it really needed was Mr Darcy in a wet shirt walking across the lawn, fresh from a dip in the lake, but Leon wisely refrained from mentioning that. “It’s very nice,” he said politely.

Gwaine parked the embarrassingly scruffy car right next to a highly polished and well-cared-for Bentley.

“I’ll get my things. Mum, I think Leon wants to see the duke. Can you take him up to the main hall for me?”

“Is that wise, dear?” Mrs Greene asked, with a worried glance at Leon. “Shouldn’t you take him?”

Gwaine muttered something that Leon couldn’t make out, got out of the car and opened the boot to get his case of dirty laundry. “I’ll be back here when you’ve finished so I can take you home,” he told Leon. “Or if you change your mind we can do the holiday. Still your choice.”

And with that he stomped off towards the back of the house.

“Well…” Mrs Greene finally seemed to be at a loss for words. She gazed after her son, then looked back at Leon. “Shall we go? If you still want to.”

“He’s not very happy with me.” Leon got out of the car and held the door open for her.

“Gwaine’s always been quite headstrong. He’s like his father.” Mrs Greene smiled. “He has his own ideas about things. Material things aren’t very important to him.”

“He doesn’t get on with the duke then?”

Gwaine’s mother sighed, and took his arm. “It’s complicated. It’s something you’ll have to ask him about yourself.” They started to walk towards the house, towards the front steps rather than the servants’ entrance at the back, where Gwaine had clearly gone.

“I doubt I’ll get the chance.”

“No. He’ll be quite serious about that.”

“Gwaine’s never serious about anything.”

“Perhaps not. But he seems serious about you, and that’s not something I see very often from him. I know he can be a bit difficult, but he’s very loyal. Is it really worth losing that for someone you’ve never even met? Someone you may not like? Someone who might not even like you?”

“I just wanted to meet the duke.” Leon paused on the steps.

Gwaine was coming back already, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. He was pointedly ignoring them, his face set and angry.

“Did he lose old boyfriends to the duke?” Leon asked.

“Most of them have been far more interested in the duke than in Gwaine, yes. You know, it was a kind thing you two did for Nancy this afternoon. I was hoping you were going to turn out to be better, Leon.”

Gwaine had got into the car and was sitting there. Leon knew he would be watching them in the mirror, though pretending not to. The car looked more battered and run down than ever next to that smart Bentley. Gwaine just looked miserable.

Leon gave one last, longing glance up at the wonderful house that was exactly what he’d always wanted, then turned to Mrs Greene.

“Thank you. I don’t think I want to go in after all if it bothers him so much.” He gave a heavy sigh, looking at the dreadful car, and hoped he was doing the right thing. “So, I hope I’ll see you again.”

She beamed at him, and to his surprise flung her arms around him in a huge hug. “Oh, I hope so too! Have a lovely holiday! Look after my boy!”

Leon turned away, heading back to the battered car. At least he would get to sit in the servants’ quarters sometimes. Perhaps Gwaine could wangle one of the guest bedrooms when the duke was away and they could try out a four-poster. He’d always fancied trying a four-poster. He doubted that would actually happen though. Gwaine probably had a cheap mattress and pillows from Asda on the no-poster-at-all bed of whichever basement room he slept in.

Gwaine was leaning out of the car as he approached, grinning broadly. “You didn’t do it!”

Leon shrugged, trying to act casual. “He’s not that good-looking.”

Gwaine gave him a beaming smile to rival his mother’s. “Not like me then! Get in, we’ve got a long drive if we want to get to the campsite before dark. We need to stop off for food too.”

“Not Asda!” Leon pleaded.

Gwaine gave a mock pout, but was evidently buoyed up by Leon’s decision. “Okay. There’s a Waitrose on the way if you’d rather go there.”

If he’d rather go there. Leon _loved_ Waitrose. Everything cost just that bit more and looked that little bit nicer (apart from the Essentials range in its horribly basic and cheap-looking packaging that made it anything but essential as far as Leon was concerned. He always pretended that whole section of Waitrose didn’t exist).

“Definitely!” He got into the car, and was immediately pulled into a snog.

He did hope Gwaine’s mother wasn’t still watching.

As they pulled apart, Gwaine’s mobile started ringing. Gwaine glanced at the screen, then clicked it over to answerphone.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?” Leon asked. He would never leave a phone ringing.

“It’s only Arthur, he’s probably bored with standing on balconies and waving at people and wants to go clubbing or something.” Gwaine tossed his mobile onto the back seat.

Leon stared at it in horror. “Arthur? _Prince_ Arthur? And you’re not going to answer him?”

“You know we’re mates. It’s not as if I’ll get thrown in the tower for failing to answer a call. Come on, I’ve been looking forward to this.” He started up the engine.

Leon just sat there, staring at Gwaine as they drove down the long private road through the estate.

\---

Mrs Greene watched the car disappearing up the long drive. She waved, but she doubted either of the boys noticed. Smiling to herself, she continued up the steps of the house, and in through the front door.

The hall was immaculate as ever. The cleaner always did a fine job. All up the stairs were pictures of the past Dukes of Gloucester, the hall itself dominated by a huge portrait of the man who currently held that title.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said softly.

Gwaine Albert Horatio Greene, the 14th Duke of Gloucester, Knight of the Garter, Counsellor of State and Knight of the Grand Utherian Order, suited, booted and looking slightly annoyed, stared down at her from the wall.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Leon Knightley and the Duke of Gloucester [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405100) by [Vodka112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vodka112/pseuds/Vodka112)
  * [Леон Найтли и герцог Глостерский](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503866) by [Anna_Karenina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Karenina/pseuds/Anna_Karenina)




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